The Afterport
by Spinyfruit
Summary: Lovino died in the year 1945, right after WWII ended. When he woke up, he wasn't in heaven; he was in the place you went before it. Apparently, Purgatory is a crowded place, with several interesting characters. Some of whom have been there for centuries. —Spamano, multi-chapter, with pirate!Spain and dark themes.


_A/N: This fic is part of the holiday gift exchange with The Goliath Beetle. Our theme is "traveling" and I used that theme very, very liberally *shy laugh* It's not a tragic fic, but there are many dark themes, so tread lightly._

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><p><em>*FeliFelicia Vargas – fem!Italy (If this bothers you, don't worry_—_it's not important to the plot.)_

_*Warning for this chapter: references of murder_

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><p><strong>The Afterport<strong>

~/~

Terminal H

_Homicide occurs when death results from a volitional act committed by another person to cause fear, harm, or death. Intent to cause death is a common element, but is not required for classification as homicide. _

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><p>Loud. It was so loud. Lovino thought the worst of it left when the war ended. Why was this so much louder?<p>

Hard, sweaty, disgusting words. Italian and slightly familiar. A stranger? No…an acquaintance. Who was it? Who the hell was it? And why couldn't Lovino see him?

A flash of muddy, brown eyes, then white. White. Was this…no. There was a crack in the ceiling, and the tape Felicita strapped across in a pathetic attempt at fixing it. Lovino knew that ceiling. This was their bathroom.

Another flash. Bright, amber eyes, looking straight at him. And more Italian, but higher, smoother, and frightened. Felicia. Oh, Feli. That silly _idiota_. So silly.

_Mio Dio._ What was that other Italian? It was barely understandable. It was a garble. And so rough. Scared too, but also angry. Furious…

Oh, it was _him_.

Loud: _"B-bas-s-stard-o!" _

Louder: _"No! Lovi! Smettila adesso! Per favore! Lovi!" _

Loudest: _"Malledetto stronzo! Vai all'inferno! Spero che si muore! Vai! Vai all'inferno cazzo!"_

_"Vai!"_

_"Vai!"_

_"Vai!"_

Lovino closed his eyes. He was tired of hearing all of this crap. Everyone just shut up. He wanted to be left alone. He wanted them to go. He was too tired to move. Too tired. Much, much too tired. He didn't want to move, and he couldn't if he tried.

The noises faded. They were quieter and quieter. They were finally leaving.

It was silent. Lovino was alone.

Finally.

_Finally_…

* * *

><p>…<p>

…

…

* * *

><p>"Vargas."<p>

Lovino's eyes fluttered open. He saw white again, but it was different. It was perfect, blank, and void. He knitted his eyebrows together.

"Lovino Romano Vargas."

Lovino ignored the voice and kept staring at the ceiling. He was transfixed, and confused.

"Dude, is that you?" Someone nearby nudged his arm. The words weren't Italian, but Lovino could understand them. How could that be?

"Wh—" Lovino started to reply, but his throat suddenly burned and he broke into a violent fit of coughing.

"Whoa, there! It's okay! Did ya' choke on a bug or something?" The same person asked, but he laughed even as he was talking.

Lovino wanted to glare or yell or do something, but he couldn't stop coughing; then suddenly, he was pulled into a sitting position by two very strong arms.

"Hey, are you going to be okay?" The person asked again, and this time he sounded more concerned. "I wonder if they have water here…" he mumbled to himself. Then louder, he said, "Hey y'all, is there like a glass of water we can get for this guy?"

Lovino's eyes were watering, but he tried to make out the stranger kneeling in front of him. He could see blonde hair, a grey-green blazer…the person looked like a foreigner.

"Here you go," another man said. His hair was longer, and darker, and he wasn't speaking Italian either, but somehow, it was still understandable. He walked away towards a large, white couch.

"Awesome! Thanks dude," the blond foreigner exclaimed.

Suddenly, the rim of a cold glass was pressed to Lovino's lips, and cool water splashed against his throat. He grumbled and tried to push the glass away. It made the pain worse, not better.

"Oh, that doesn't help? Well, dang it." The man – it seemed strange to call him that, because he definitely exuded more childishness than manliness – placed the glass on the floor.

Lovino covered his mouth and tried to stifle his coughing. It was a strange room they were in. There were many people, standing around, most of them near a tall podium, but it didn't feel crowded. Others, like the dark blond in the grey suit, were sitting on a large white couch. Lovino let his eyes wander aimlessly around for a while. When he noticed the foreigner was still sitting in front of him on the floor, and still smiling, Lovino glared.

"What's that?" the man asked excitedly. "Are you trying to tell me something? Oh! You want to know my name, don't you?"

Lovino rolled his eyes, and mocked him silently in his head.

The foreigner didn't seem to notice, and instead straightened his glasses and tilted his chin up proudly. "I'm the one and only Alfred F. Jones, dude! I'm like crazy famous!"

_Really?_ Lovino pursed his lips and tried to stand up.

Alfred was already at his side, lifting him to his feet in one pull.

Lovino gasped, when he realized for the second time, _Damn, this guy is strong._

"Yeah, it's such a dang shame, man. I bet all of America is crying for me. Oh, and Mattie. Poor Mattie. He was my catcher, you know? What are the Yankees going to do without me?" Alfred laughed again.

Lovino just stared at him and wondered if he'd ever make sense. _What the hell are Yankees? His name's Alfred…he must be an American. He's wearing their military uniform anyway…but what the fuck is he talking about?_

"What are…Yankees?" Lovino asked softly, and winced when his throat burned again.

Alfred's blue eyes shined, and he smiled even wider. "Dude, are you serious? You don't know who the Yankees are? Man, where have you been? It's baseball! I thought everyone knew baseball. No wonder you don't recognize me. I'm the Yankees' star pitcher!" he exclaimed. Then a thought flickered across his glasses, and he modified himself, "Er—well, I was anyway." He chuckled, but Lovino didn't understand what was funny this time.

"Wai—what do you—"

"Lovino Romano Vargas. Report to the front please," the same feminine voice interrupted him.

Alfred glanced behind him and said, "Oh, you better hurry up. She looks like she's getting impatient."

Lovino narrowed his eyes and whispered, "Impatient for wh…"

Alfred shrugged his shoulders. "Your guess is as good as mine. It's not like any of us have a place to be anymore."

_Damn, when will this guy ever make sense?_

"Vargas!" the lady shouted this time, and Lovino jumped.

Loud. Loud. Loud voices. God, he _hated_ loud voices. It sent his heart racing, and his breath came faster.

"You better go on there, buddy. Looks like she can't wait any longer." Alfred nudged Lovino forward, and laughed obnoxiously.

Lovino fell into step automatically, and he had the strangest impulse to sprint. He didn't know why, so he ignored it and looked ahead. The woman who was calling his name was waiting for him at a white podium. She was tall and strong looking, with white habit covering a bun of unruly, light brown hair. At first, Lovino thought she might be a nun, but her uniform was different: it was a dress and apron with an emblem of a golden cross sewn across the front. Was she a nurse?

Lovino stopped in front of her and asked, "Am I in the hospi—" He coughed before he could finish.

The woman didn't seem to mind and pushed a paper forward as if nothing had happened. "Just look over this information and make sure this is you. Then sign at the bottom, and someone will take you to the hub."

Lovino frowned, and unwillingly looked at the piece of paper. (He was still pissed that she deliberately ignored his question.)

The paper stated:

_Name: Lovino Romano Vargas_

_Nationality: Italian_

_Date of Birth: 17 March 1927_

_Date of Death: 10 June 1945_

_Cause of Death—_

"What the hell?" Lovino shouted as loud as he could. It wasn't very loud anyway, but it caught the lady's attention and she lifted an eyebrow.

"Is there a problem?" she asked.

_Yes, there's a fucking problem. What the hell is this? Who the hell are you? Where the hell am I?_

Lovino couldn't say any of that however, and simply slammed his fist on top of the paper and glared.

"You're going to have to be more specific," she teased, and her hazel eyes sparkled.

Blood rushed to Lovino's cheeks. He hated the feeling that he was being made fun of. So he pointed to the words _Date of Death_ and _Cause of Death_.

The woman followed the gesture. "Oh," she nodded her head. "Yes, you're dead."

Lovino stopped. "What?" he echoed softly.

She ran her finger over the words and explained, "See this. You died about a day ago. You probably don't remember it happening. That's fairly normal. Those memories should resurface before your sentence is over."

"_What?_" he repeated a bit louder. He could taste blood in his mouth; he bit his cheek too hard.

The woman seemed slightly exasperated at this point. "I'm sorry. Someone will explain everything to you later. Just sign this paper so you can be transferred out of the lobby."

"But I'm not—"

"Yes, you are," she interrupted, and her voice was firm.

Lovino shrank back, and he felt that cold sweep of terror pass through him again. Something about loud voices…

But he told himself he didn't feel like arguing anymore, and snatched the pen from her hand. He scratched a hurried signature and threw the pen down again.

The lady retrieved it without a word and stamped it. "Here," she said and passed the paper back to Lovino. "This is your Death Certificate. Keep it with you at all times, and when meet Miss Manon outside the door, hand it to her."

Lovino was very still. He didn't move a muscle, and he didn't know if he could. He was waiting for Feli to shake his shoulders and wake him up for breakfast, or to roll off the bed and realize he took too long of a siesta again.

Suddenly, the woman shouted, "Well, go! You're wasting time!"

Lovino jumped and this time, he listened to that instinct and started sprinting. He saw a door that wasn't there before. It was white too, but a red monogram of an H embellished the center of it.

"I'm Miss Héderváry by the way!" she yelled after him.

Lovino kept reminding himself that he was a gentleman, and couldn't curse at a woman. (Not that he could shout if he even tried.) Then he yanked the door open, and slipped out.

When the door finally shut, the echo carried on and on and on. Lovino realized this place – whatever it was – was much larger than any of the apartments or houses he had passed through in Rome. This place was enormous. And different. Like a warehouse, or a blank void.

It wasn't really clear how large the space was, because it was hard to understand where it began and ended.

"Mister Vargas?" someone asked.

Lovino stiffened, and glanced to the side. Next to him was a woman in the same nurse's outfit Miss Héderváry wore. Though, this lady seemed gentler, and a bit more like Feli. Blonde bangs stuck out from her white habit, and she had soft, pale-green eyes. She wasn't beautiful, but Lovino found her presence comforting somehow.

"Hello, I'm Emma," she said. "Or Miss Manon, if you prefer. I'm here to guide you."

"Guide me wher—" he coughed again, and this time it pissed him off. "God fucking damn it! Why…the hell does it hurt so…"

"Oh dear," Emma murmured and rushed to Lovino's side. She pried Lovino's hands from his neck and looked closely. Her fingertips pressed against the skin, and Lovino flinched.

"That hurts!" he snapped, and pushed her hands away.

"I'm sorry," she said. "It's your memento. It won't go away until you reach heaven," she explained, and pressed her lips together. "But yours isn't very pleasant."

"Wh-what is it?" Lovino asked weakly.

"It's a keepsake from your death," she replied, and glanced at something on Lovino's shoulder. "Try to cover it up with your scarf here. You probably don't want people asking you questions, right?" she smiled reassuringly, as her hands set to work on fastening a red scarf Lovino never remembered wearing around his neck. Once it was looped securely, she took a step back. "There. Good as new. Oh, you look so handsome! Whoever dressed you in the scarf knew you so well!"

"What the hell does that mean?" Lovino coughed. Then something dawning on him, and his hands grabbed the tasseled ends of the scarf. "This is Feli's…" he murmured, and his eyes flashed. "Why am I wearing Feli's scarf?"

Emma's eyes softened and she shrugged her shoulders. "You're wearing whatever you died in. I can't really say."

_There it is again. _

"So I'm…I'm really…_dead?"_ he asked quietly.

Emma lowered her gaze and nodded her head. "Yes. Everyone here is."

There was a lingering sensation in Lovino's mind that he should have felt more shocked at the news, but that wasn't the reality. He felt guilty. He didn't know how he died, or why, but he knew that Feli was still alive somewhere in Rome. And Lovino left her alone.

…But he wasn't surprised that he was dead.

"Why am I not in heaven?"

Emma looked up again. "Ah, well how about we start walking and I'll explain it to you as we go," she said, and grabbed his hand. "I need to escort you to the hub, and it takes a while to go anywhere around here, so we may as well get started."

Lovino stumbled, but eventually fell into pace beside her and slipped out of her grip. He blushed and crossed his arms as they walked down the long, white hallway.

"This is the Afterport," she said and gestured with both hands to everything around them. "It's quite literally Purgatory, but we have a nickname for it here. Everyone who has sinned, but has a chance of going to Heaven comes here. Those who haven't sinned – like babies and small children – and those who have repented for their sins already – like monks and nuns – go to Heaven directly. And those who have sinned far too much go to Hell directly. If you have any good in you though, you come to the Afterport first."

Somehow, that made Lovino embarrassed. "But I'm not—"

"Of course you are!" she giggled and mussed his hair. "Compared to some people here, you're a saint. I can tell already."

Lovino's ears burned, but he made no other comment. His throat hurt anyway, he told himself.

"Anyway, here at the Afterport, everyone works to pay off their sins. Everyone's sentence is different, and it depends on how much you've sinned and repented in your lifetime. It should say on your Death Certificate how long yours is."

Lovino retrieved the piece of paper from his jacket pocket and unfolded it. Something bothered him again. It was the garble underneath his _Date of Death_. "Why can't I read my _Cause of_…" he trailed into a cough.

"Your _Cause of Death_?" she repeated. "It'll make sense to you when you remember."

That wasn't really a satisfactory to Lovino, and he made a grunt of disapproval.

"If it helps, you came from Terminal H for homicide," she offered.

Lovino's eyes widened and he stared at her automatically. He wanted to have a larger reaction, and curse and yell, but he still wasn't…

"You don't look very surprised," she pointed out, and her eyes glittered a gold-green. "Your memories must not be very faraway."

Lovino pursed his lips and glanced back at the paper. "It says my sentence is ten," he said. Then it hit him. "_Ten?_ What the hell does that mean? Ten what?"

Emma's lips turned up in obvious amusement. "Oh, they're purposefully vague. It could be ten days, weeks, months, years…it all depends."

"On wh—" he coughed.

"On you," she replied simply. Then added, "And Him, of course."

Lovino's eyes darted suspiciously. "So…_He's_…here?"

Emma laughed abruptly, and clapped her hand to Lovino's back. "Oh, no! Of course not, sweetie. Why do you think I'm here? He has much more important things to do."

She said it like it was obvious, and Lovino couldn't help but flush red again. He hated being treated like a child, damn it.

"Anyway, when we reach the hub, I'm going to help you find a job, and we'll part ways."

"What's the…" Lovino paused in frustration. He was getting tired of asking definitions to terms he clearly didn't know.

"The hub is the center of the Afterport. There are five terminals, sorted by the cause of a person's death. After their paperwork is sorted out, everyone is escorted to the hub by their angel—just like you are now!" she laughed, and mussed his hair again.

"Hey—Stop that!" he grumbled, and smoothed his hair back down. Then he crossed his arms and looked at her cautiously. "So…you're an angel?"

"Isn't it obvious?" she exclaimed.

"I thought you were a nurse."

She giggled, and Lovino felt embarrassed again. "A lot of people think that nowadays. I guess the outfit's misleading."

Lovino huffed and turned away.

"Ah, so that's it." Emma tapped on Lovino's shoulder and directed his view to where she was pointing.

It was like a town. A kind of non-descript, general idea of what a town was supposed to be anyway. The architecture was vague, and Lovino wasn't entirely certain where it was supposed to be from. Perhaps nowhere, or maybe everywhere? It was starting to bother him that almost everything was colored in different shades of white though. It was like being in some marble sanctuary—and he would know, since he was from Rome. But even with all of the marble, Rome has color. This…this was just infuriating.

"I know, I know. It's not much to look at it," she said. "I'm afraid everywhere you go, it's going to look like this. It gets dull after a while."

_No shit,_ Lovino thought.

"Well," Emma stopped walking and put her hands on her hips. "What job do you want?"

Lovino shrugged his shoulders and fixed his jacket mindlessly.

"Okay, well, what sort of job did you have when you were alive?"

"Um," Lovino drawled and changed to fidgeting with his scarf this time. "I didn't really have a…_job_."

He thought his cryptic answer might make Emma suspicious, but she just nodded her head in understanding. "Ah, yeah. We have a lot of those here. Well, I guess I'll just have to choose one for you. Hand me your Death Certificate."

Lovino frowned, but did as he was told, and once again retrieved the folded paper and handed it over.

She grasped it and turned it to the other side. "On the back is your resume," she explained. "It says here you're very kind hearted, and passionate, but also quite shy at times—"

"What the hell kind of resume is that?!" he interrupted, and ignored the burn that washed through his throat. He was more preoccupied with the blush that spread from his ears to his cheeks.

Emma smiled and said, "I'm not finished. It also says you're clever, a hard worker when you want to be, a very fast runner, and a smooth pickpocket."

Lovino frowned and glanced away. "What of it?"

Emma giggled and handed the paper back to Lovino. "Put that somewhere safe. You may not be able to read your Cause of Death, but other people can, and it can be somewhat embarrassing if they do. Also," she reached in her apron pocket and pulled out a card. "Take this."

Lovino folded the certificate and shoved back in his jacket pocket; he grasped the card. It read:

_Miss Emma Manon_

_Guardian Angel_

"What am I supposed to do…" he coughed, but more quietly. Even his throat was getting tired.

"After I take you to your job, I'm going to leave you. But if you need anything, just hold the card and pray, and I'll come to you as soon as I can."

Lovino's ears burned and he hid the card away in his other pocket. "That sounds stupid."

"Maybe so," she laughed, and grabbed his hand. "Now, let me show you to your job. I think you'll do very well."

He let himself be dragged along ever closer to the cold, white buildings.

He touched Feli's scarf, and muttered, "Whatever."

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><p>The place they arrived at was no different architecture-wise: it was still white and bland for the most part. But there were a few colorful details. The sills of the windows were filled with red and pink peonies and there was a small wooden sign with fanciful, cursive script, saying <em>The Restaurant<em>. Which, at this point, should not have been as much of an anti-climactic title, as Lovino thought it was.

Emma opened the door and let Lovino walk in first. It was better on the inside at least. There were most flowers, but also just more in general. A good amount of people were distributed at the ten-something number of tables. It wasn't a large restaurant, but it was large enough. For all intents and purposes, it appeared relatively…normal. Almost as if it were real life.

Aside from the fact that everyone was wearing some strange wardrobe that didn't belong in 1940s Italy, Lovino could've believed he were still alive, and he simply walked into a weird, new restaurant Feli recommended.

"So…we eat here?" he asked.

Emma had to lean closer to hear. "Ah, well, you don't _need_ to eat anymore. Obviously," she laughed lightly, though Lovino didn't really understand this sense of humor. "But it's hard to break mortal habits, and people have a tendency to perk up after they've eaten, so we have a few restaurants around. There's at least one for every cuisine," she explained and gestured with her chin to a corner in the back. "That's the owner over there. He's the chef and manager of the restaurant. You're going to work for him."

The man she pointed to was dressed rather modern—at least from the twentieth century. He had fairly long, blond hair and a fashionable black suit with no tie, and the shirt underneath unbuttoned until his collarbone. There was something glamorous about him that intrigued Lovino at the same time it pissed him off.

"Francis," Emma called, and the man stopped talking to his guest to turn around. "I have someone for you."

Francis smiled, and suddenly a smooth, but unmistakable accent filled the air. "Emma, my dear! It's been so long. Who have you brought to replace my darling Louise?"

_Of course,_ Lovino realized. _He's French._

Francis sashayed over and swiftly grasped Emma's hand and bowed to kiss the top of it. Lovino took a few steps backwards and shoved his hands in his pockets, so Francis couldn't try any of that with him.

"Emma, you're looking lovely as ever," he said, and stood up straight. "And who do we have here? A shy little bunny?"

Lovino flinched, and he felt blood rush to his head. "Fuck off you bastard!" he shouted, but grimaced, and coughed afterwards.

Francis just laughed, like Lovino had said the funniest joke. "How endearing. I can tell you're going to make an absolutely stellar waiter."

"Waiter?" Lovino repeated, and he stared at Emma pleadingly. "I can't be a waiter," he whispered.

"What's this? A secret you don't want to share?" Francis mocked and his eyes glinted with curiosity.

Emma turned to Lovino and offered him a sympathetic frown. "I'm sorry, Lovino. But I can't decide which position Francis gives you. It's up to him. But of the places to work, this is one of the best."

"_He's French_."

"Thank you for noticing," Francis smiled and waved to the back of the restaurant. "Come now, Lovino darling. We have work to do. No rest for the wicked as they say."

"Damn it," Lovino muttered, and crossed his arms. He turned to where Emma was standing and began to ramble, "Are you sure I can't switch with someon—_hey_." He looked right and left and she was nowhere to be found.

_Where the fuck did she go? _

"Lovino!" Francis called. He was already at the back of the restaurant, near a white desk.

Begrudgingly, since it looked like Emma ditched him, Lovino left the front door, and ambled towards the back. He felt increasingly self-conscious, and noticed many eyes were watching him.

"Don't mind them," Francis said. "Everyone gets bored after a while, so they take interest in any new face."

Lovino frowned and tried to glare at most of them. He still felt awkward though, and couldn't help but blush.

"So then, this is _The Restaurant_. Only one of many. But this one's mine, so it's obviously the best," Francis winked, but Lovino ignored it. He went on anyway, "It's open twenty-fours a day, like everything is around here. But you're only required to work at least twelve of those hours a day."

"Twelve?" Lovino snapped incredulously. He'd never worked an honest day in his life, let alone work as a waiter for twelve hours a day for who knows how long.

"Yes, twelve _at the very least_. Everyone's in a hurry here trying to get to places they want to be, or run away from places they don't want to be," Francis replied, mumbling the last part more to himself. "So, we get a lot of customers. Food is good for the soul, no? I know you're a shy, little bunny, but you're going to have to get over that if you're going to serve all of these people. Most of them are strange, I admit, but we all have at least one thing in common!"

It looked like Francis was waiting for Lovino to finish.

"We're…dead," Lovino deadpanned.

Francis grinned. "Exactly."

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><p>There wasn't any layover time for Lovino to rest and get acquainted with the place—which pissed him off. Francis handed him the menus, gave him brief instructions on what to do, and ushered him to the first table. It wasn't as bad as Lovino had thought. There were two women in long, long dresses with a strange bustle in the back. Aside from what they were wearing, Lovino felt comfortable around women, and asked for their order no problem. They seemed really bored themselves so they didn't pay attention much.<p>

And that was the way with most people. Most of them would give their order and stop talking; then they'd just stare into space, or if there were more of them, they'd all stare at each other. God, everyone looked so…_tired_.

"Excuse me," someone called. His voice was low and important.

Lovino didn't realize he'd been dozing, and jumped up from his chair at the back table. "What?"

The person in front of him tapped his foot and crossed his arms. Lovino noticed he was wearing perhaps the oldest clothes he'd seen around here so far. He had a long blue coat with golden trim and buttons, a white cravat (or whatever that frilly scarf was) and crisp white shirt, and tall, black leather boots. It was impressive, but also sort of ridiculous.

Lovino snorted and glanced away. It looked like this guy was wearing a costume.

"Oh, you must be new around here," the man said, and he sounded unimpressed with Lovino's reaction. "I wish Francis would hire people that would stay here for longer than at least decade."

Something about that tone made Lovino stiffen, and he glared at the man. "Are you supposed to be like a pirate or something?"

The man ran a gloved hand through his hair: it was blond and neat. "Well, I was," he replied dryly. "God, I already miss Louise. You look like the shifty type."

"I'm not shifty!" Lovino snapped, and he coughed once into his hand.

"So you say," the man drawled. "Why don't you take me to a table already. I'm tired of standing."

Lovino's ears burned, and he hated that he felt so threatened. "Fine," he muttered and grabbed a white menu from the table. "This way." He wandered to a corner of the restaurant and showed him an empty table, identical to the rest.

"Oh, I don't like this one," the man said.

"You have to be kidding—" Lovino coughed, and finished, "me."

"Well, you certainly have a nasty cough, don't you?" the man teased, and there was something in his green eyes that sparkled malicious.

Lovino flushed and stomped to another table. "Here. Better?"

"Actually, I think I'll take the other one, thank you," he said and took a seat at the former table.

Inside, Lovino was fuming, but he had enough sense to understand that this man was probably an asshole, and dropped the menu on the table without a word.

"Oh, and if an idiot named Gilbert walks through the door, tell him to see me. And if an idiot named Carriedo walks in, tell him to see me too," the man said as his eyes sifted through the menu. Before Lovino could ask, he added, "And I'm Arthur Kirkland by the way."

"Are you a captain?" Lovino asked sarcastically.

Arthur glanced at him briefly. "Not anymore," he said.

* * *

><p>Lovino marched into the kitchen and tracked down Francis. He was assisting a female chef with some sort of soup.<p>

"There's some asshole wearing a pirate costume who's requesting something called rag pudding. What the fuck is he going on about?" he demanded, and snatched a roll from a basket and began eating it.

Francis looked like he was about to reprimand him for it, but at once, his face brightened, and he smiled ecstatically. "Oh, you've met Arthur!" he exclaimed and started unfastening the apron from around his waist. "He's one of our regulars. A true Englishman, bless his heart."

"He's a bastard," Lovino muttered and reached for another roll. Francis slapped his hand away this time.

"Don't you have work to do?" he asked knowingly, and Lovino noticed even Francis's eyes shimmered a softer blue.

Lovino huffed and ambled out of the kitchen. Two people were already waiting for him at the front desk. They were both tall and well built, but one of them was taller and wearing a coat similar to the one Arthur had. It was red, with black trim and golden buttons, with a large and gaudy hat to match. The man himself had long dark hair tied in a ponytail, and was tan and sunny compared to most people; he was even smiling when Lovino walked through the door.

"See Gilbert! There's someone," he said, and Lovino noticed his were the greenest eyes he had seen so far.

"Finally! God, it was about time," the other man groaned, and Lovino finally noticed him.

In an instant, his blood ran cold and Lovino bolted back into the kitchen.

"Hey, wait! Where the hell are you—" his voice was cut off by the slam of the kitchen door. But Lovino still remembered the accent.

Francis and the other chefs were staring at Lovino openly, waiting for some sort of explanation for the interruption.

"Lovino? What are you doing in here—"

"German," Lovino gasped, and he stayed firm against the door, in case the man tried to follow him.

Francis walked towards him and looked in Lovino's eyes. "A German? You mean Gilbert? What's the problem with that?"

Lovino stared at him as if it were obvious—because it was. "He's a _German_."

"Ah, well, actually he's Prussian. He's very particular about that, so I wouldn't mess it up in front of him," Francis warned with a smile.

Lovino just gaped at him. "But what about…the war?" he asked quietly, so only Francis could hear him.

Understanding finally lit Francis's eyes and he nodded. "Oh, I see," he hummed. "But Gilbert is from World War I. Couldn't you tell from the uniform?"

When he thought of it, Lovino did notice the uniform was different. Older, definitely. "But he's still…" he coughed. "He's still German."

"Prussian, technically," Francis pointed out, still smiling. "But anyway, it doesn't really matter here what nationality you are. Or the wars, or any of that. That's a long ways in the past at this point."

Lovino scowled and turned his head away. He didn't like this at all.

"Aw, do you need big brother to come with you?" Francis teased, and he poked Lovino's cheek.

Lovino shoved his hand away and coughed. "Shut up, bastard."

"I'll take that as a yes," Francis chuckled and opened the door. "Come now, I'll introduce you." He gestured for Lovino to follow, and begrudgingly, Lovino did as he was told.

The two men were still waiting by the front desk. The one in the red coat was looking around the room, and the German, or Prussian, or Gilbert, was staring at a menu.

"Hello there, my dears," Francis gushed and at once the two men shifted their eyes to him, and incidentally also Lovino who was trailing behind slowly. "Have you had long days at work?"

Gilbert threw down the menu and laughed haughtily. "Yeah, but what can you do. They need me out there, man. I'm too good at my job."

"Maybe so," Francis laughed and hugged Gilbert quickly.

Lovino fidgeted with his scarf.

"And how about you Toni? Just as long?" Francis asked as he hugged the other man.

"Not as bad this time," the man joked tiredly, and he pulled away. His eyes seemed very sharp and vibrant, and it didn't take long for them to find Lovino. "Is this someone new?" he asked.

For some reason, Lovino had the urge to snap _No, damn it!_ Even though that would have been an obvious lie. So he just frowned and crossed his arms over his chest again.

"Ah, yes. This is Louise's replacement. His name is Lovino," Francis announced and pulled Lovino forward by his arm. "Emma brought him over earlier."

The name triggered something in both men's eyes and they looked at Lovino differently.

"Oh, really?" Gilbert laughed. "Emma's always had a thing for troubled people. You don't really look like her type."

"Shut up," Lovino retorted sharply. He took a subtle step closer to Francis and further away from Gilbert.

"I'm afraid he's a shy little thing. He's only been here for fourteen hours," Francis explained smoothly.

_"Fourteen hours?!"_ Lovino repeated incredulously.

Francis smiled at him. "Oh, yes. Time flies when you're having fun, no? You can actually go on break and join us if you like."

That same instinct pulsed through Lovino's veins, like every part of him screamed at him to run, just run, run—

"I'm Captain Antonio Fernández Carriedo."

Lovino blinked from his trance and stared at the hand in front of him. The man—Antonio, apparently, was smiling and waiting for Lovino to shake his hand.

Lovino wasn't sure if he wanted to though.

"Are you really a captain?" Lovino asked dubiously, as he recalled what Arthur had said earlier.

Antonio smiled and placed his hands on his hips. "Of course! What does it look like?"

_Like you're an idiot,_ Lovino thought as he rolled his eyes. Instead he asked, "Where's your ship?"

"Downstairs of course," Antonio replied easily. Before Lovino could question that, Antonio turned to Francis. "Is Arthur already here? I have some papers for him."

"That bastard is waiting for you and your friend in the corner," Lovino snapped, and tried his best to appear nonchalant.

Antonio looked at Lovino rather surprised for some reason. Then he grinned and said a slow and heavy, "Thank you." If that wasn't a Spanish accent, Lovino didn't know what was.

"Ugh, he probably has more work for us to do," Gilbert groaned. "I'm going to go on ahead and drop off my folder. You can keep gossiping if you like."

"Hm, I think I'll go join you. I think I need a rousing round of banter with my dear Arthur," Francis laughed, and started walking along with Gilbert and Antonio. He glanced over his shoulder and added, "Lovino, you come along too. You might as well meet everyone now since they'll be here often enough."

Lovino bit his lip and slowly walked behind. He didn't like being told what to do, but he also didn't like being around people who were so obviously_ older _than him. Not even by five or ten years. Arthur and Antonio must have been _hundreds_. And they were still here? What the hell did they even do anyway?

The thought sent a cold chill up Lovino's spine and he watched Antonio from the corner of his eye. He didn't look threatening really. The outfit was interesting, but it wasn't really frightening. And the bastard was still smiling. He couldn't be that bad. But then he was still _here _after all of this time…

"Oh, thank god. It took you morons long enough," Arthur yawned and put his pen down. He had a large stack of papers and folders surrounding him and his tea at the table. There was also a small buffet of bread, pastries, butter and jam in the center. Arthur added, "Hurry up, now. I'm already being heckled by Elizaveta."

Gilbert laughed and placed his folder, pristine and white, in front of Arthur. "She's hilarious, isn't she?"

"You're not the one doing paperwork for her," Arthur muttered and gestured for Antonio to place his nearby. Antonio did so, and Lovino noticed his folder was black. Arthur gave a cursory glance at both and said, "So anything eventful happen to either of you?"

"Not really," Antonio replied, as he slipped out of his coat and hung it on the back of his chair. The white shirt he wore underneath was long-sleeved and billowy, and open a few inches underneath his collarbone. Lovino couldn't help but notice the beginning of a large red scar that cut across the tan skin. But it disappeared underneath the shirt, so Lovino couldn't see much of it.

Antonio appeared to notice Lovino's gaze and smiled at him. Lovino frowned and turned away.

"So what year are you from?" Antonio asked.

Lovino didn't realize he was addressing him until everyone at the table was looking at him expectantly. A blush crept over his cheeks and he answered, "Uh, 1945."

"Hm, is there still a war going on?" Antonio asked.

Lovino coughed and fidgeted with his scarf again. "No, it ended a little before I…" he trailed off, unsure of how to phrase the end. "A little before I died, I guess," he mumbled.

"Oh, did you fight in the war?" Gilbert asked and his eyes found Lovino.

_Why were they red?_ "No, I was too young," Lovino muttered bitterly. "And my grandfather made me promise not to."

"Smart grandfather," Antonio commented lightly.

"Yeah, well I died anyway, so I would say he's a fucking idio—" Lovino choked on the air, and a rush of pain swept through his throat again. He covered his mouth as he coughed and wished no one could see him.

No one seemed to mind, however. And Gilbert perked up without warning.

"Hey, is there any chance you ran across my brother out there?"

Francis patted his shoulder and chuckled. "The odds of your brother meeting this little Italian are astronomical. There's no way they would've met, not to mention _talked_ with each other."

"I don't associate with many Germans," Lovino said snidely. He tried to avoid them as much as he could in Rome, which became harder and harder as the war went on. But he tried his best.

Gilbert still gushed with excitement. "He's about Antonio's height. With blond hair and blue eyes. He acts like he has a stick up his ass, but he's also really smart."

"Gilbert, you're describing almost every German there is," Francis joked.

Antonio laughed, but he didn't say anything to contribute. Neither did Arthur. The jokes must not be as familiar with them.

"What year are you two from?" Lovino asked curiously. He couldn't _not_ ask that question at this point.

Antonio and Arthur exchanged glances, and there was something tense in the air. "Well," Antonio began. "We're from the late 1600s. But I died before Arthur."

"By five years even," Arthur remarked smugly. "You had a head start, yet here we are...still together."

Antonio laughed, but it wasn't the charming laugh Lovino heard earlier. It was humorless, and Lovino felt very cold all of a sudden.

Francis appeared to sense the mood just as well, and swooped in, saying, "They're a rather dull pair, I'm afraid. They've been here for ages. You know they were alive before electricity? Can you even imagine? Oh, my dears…"

"We're not bloody pansies like you! We sailed the seas and pillaged towns, damn it!" Arthur shouted. "What the hell did you do in your ivory tower?"

"Oh, Arthur," Francis purred and he leaned back in his chair. "You would've loved the 1910s. So sophisticated! So elegant. All I did was lounge, drink, and danced the night away." Francis glanced at Lovino. "Did you ever go to Paris?"

"No," Lovino replied.

Francis sighed like he was struck with an arrow. "Oh, my dear boy. That's such a tragedy. I weep for you. Everyone should see Paris. It should be law."

"Wait," Lovino paused. "Why are you still here?" Thirty something years is a long time, and Francis didn't seem like the criminal type.

"I ask him that everyday," Arthur remarked, and gave Francis an annoyed stare.

Francis ignored him and faced Lovino. "I killed my lover in her sleep for cheating on me," he said flatly.

Lovino waited for the punch-line, but Francis kept a blank face.

Then Arthur shouted, "Oh bullocks! Two days ago you told me you were a master art thief that stole from the Louvre for a living, and the day before that you said you were a crazed pyromaniac that burned down over a hundred buildings! You change it every bloody time!"

"I thought Francis was a smuggler for something," Gilbert pitched in, laughing.

"For opium, of course," Francis replied.

"Oh, I know what that is! There was some in our time!" Antonio exclaimed, excited that he recognized the topic.

"Dear god, not this again," Arthur pleaded to himself.

"Arthur's right. This isn't polite. We haven't properly introduced ourselves to darling Lovino here," Francis said and patted Lovino's shoulder. "So, I'm the lovely Francis Bonnefoy. I died in the year 1914 and left behind a legacy of stolen crown jewels at the bottom of my koi pond. I wonder to this day if they were ever found."

"You bloody imbecile."

"The dashing pirate you see over there is the adorable—"

"Don't you dare call me dashing or adorable you wanker!" Arthur interrupted, his face slightly pink.

"That's the _former_ Captain Arthur Kirkland. He's not a captain anymore, because he doesn't have a ship," Francis explained. "He works for Miss Héderváry, the archangel from Terminal H. Is that where you came from?"

Lovino sat back, unsure of whether to answer. "Uh, yeah," he said. "How did you know?"

"Call it process of elimination," Francis replied. "There are only so many options."

"What are…" Lovino coughed and pressed his hand to his scarf. He caught Antonio giving him another look, but he decidedly ignored it.

"What are they? Aside from H, there's Terminal A for accident, Terminal N for natural, Terminal S for suicide, and Terminal U for undetermined and unclassified."

"Oh," Lovino said. He thought about asking them where they were from, but somehow it seemed…rude. And usually Lovino didn't care about rudeness, but he felt strange about it now.

"So what did you do Lovino?" Gilbert asked as he lifted his legs on the table. Arthur made a grunt of disapproval, but Gilbert ignored it. "Every guardian angel has their weakness. Elizaveta is attracted to brave and awesome souls like myself, Kiku likes them rowdy and British apparently—"

"I take offense to that."

"—and Jeanne likes the romantics," Gilbert finished with a nod to Francis. "But Emma has always had a soft spot for the crazy turbulent souls, like our friend Toni here." Then Gilbert leaned over the table and stared Lovino in the eyes. "So what puts you in the same league as him of all people?"

Why did this sound like a challenge? This reminded Lovino of the times in his life when he was young and other boys would taunt him about one thing or another. It was always—_always_—at times like this that Lovino couldn't control himself. He lied without even meaning to, and he always lied well. That's what got him into so much trouble.

He felt eyes watching him expectantly, and Lovino answered, "I was part of the mafia."

"Oh, well that sounds rather exciting," Francis commented.

Arthur glanced at him and shook his head. "No, it doesn't. We've met hundreds of mafia people. This kid isn't any different. He probably smuggled some drugs and money, and maybe killed a person or two. It's textbook."

"Oh? Did you kill bad guys or good guys?" Gilbert asked curiously.

"Does it matter?" Lovino replied with a wince. It didn't help the last time, but he decided to take a sip of water anyway.

Gilbert shrugged his shoulders. "Not really. I thought I was fighting bad guys, but I still have to serve time. Ah, yeah. I guess we're all just unfortunate killers at this table…"

"Except for Francis," Arthur added as he glared in Francis's direction.

"Yeah, except for Francis," Gilbert agreed.

Lovino coughed and messed with his scarf some more. He felt increasingly uncomfortable. He never gave someone anything worse than a black eye, let alone did he kill someone. Not that there weren't any people he thought about killing; he just never actually _did_ it.

And to know that three of the four people were basically murderers, even if it was in a former lifetime…that was a bit unnerving. He was sitting in between Francis and Gilbert, but slowly he leaned a little closer to Francis.

Suddenly, the church bell (because apparently there was a church somewhere around here), rung…once, twice, three times, four, five, six…

Gilbert threw his head back at the same time Antonio stood up from his chair.

"God damn it, back to work already? How long has it been?" he complained and slowly dropped his shoes from the table and stood up. He straightened his pristine, blue uniform. The Prussian emblem glinted.

Francis checked his watch. "Hm, it's already been about three hours."

_"Three hours?!"_ Lovino repeated.

"Yes, time flies when you're having fun—"

"There's no way it's been three fucking hours," Lovino shouted boldly, and he stood up as well. He noticed Gilbert handling something in his jacket pocket, and he caught the faintest glint of silver.

It was another instinct in Lovino. The sight of something valuable and shiny sent a rush of adrenaline through him. Quickly, so many thoughts occurred to him. He wondered what _it_ was. He wondered if _it_ could be useful. He wondered if he could get _it_.

That was always the game-changer. Lovino loved a challenge. And he loved the exciting game of steal and runaway. Maybe it sounded petty, but to Lovino it wasn't—it was what his life was made of.

Francis's drawl lingered in the back of his mind. "Yes, well time moves a lot faster here admittedly. Part of the reason why everyone's in a hurry. They don't want to be here forever, right?"

Lovino was still between Francis and Gilbert, and swiftly, as Gilbert was walking past, Lovino bumped into him. It wasn't hard enough to cause a scene, just enough for Gilbert to glance at Lovino a bit annoyed and move on.

Lovino held the object in his pocket, and slowly, his fingers traced it. It felt like a…_key?_ A key. A key to where?

"Well, my dears, try not to work too hard, hm? You can't leave me alone with Arthur forever, or he might make me help with his work," Francis warned jokingly.

"As if you would actually do it," Arthur muttered and he continued checking and signing papers.

Francis laughed and ruffled his Arthur's hair.

"Damn, I don't feel like flying right now," Gilbert mumbled and he stepped beside Antonio.

Antonio chuckled and patted his friend's back. "If you'd like to trade places with me, be my guest."

Gilbert looked at Antonio rather awkwardly and laughed. "Uh, no thanks."

Lovino stayed closer to the back, near Francis, and tried not to garner any more attention.

"Well, I guess I'll be seeing you later then. Bye now," Francis said dramatically and waved goodbye.

Gilbert turned around to go, but Antonio whispered something in his ear and stayed behind. Lovino fixed his scarf again, and decided to wander back to the front desk.

"Lovino."

Lovino hated hearing his name called. It was _always_ for the wrong reasons. Always. And it made his heart race.

He stopped walking and turned around. Antonio was already in front of him: tall, bright, and with an aura of quiet intimidation surrounding him. He smiled at Lovino, but this time it was more amused and mischievous than anytime before.

Lovino frowned. "What is it?" he snapped and crossed his arms.

"I think Gilbert dropped something earlier. Did you happen to find it?" Antonio asked, and his eyes danced.

Lovino's heart thudded and he fought to keep his poker face. "No," he replied curtly. "I have work to do, so go awa—" Lovino was going to walk away, but Antonio's hand was already on his arm, swinging him in front of Antonio's chest. He saw that scar again, but forced his gaze up to Antonio's green eyes.

"You know," Antonio began, and his accent tickled Lovino's ears. "I've met plenty of killers." His hand reached under Lovino's scarf and pulled it down. "And I don't think you're one," he said. The splotchy bruise that rung around his neck was revealed, and Antonio's eyes passed over it casually, almost _knowingly_.

Lovino flinched away, and tried to free himself from Antonio's grasp, but first Antonio dug his hand in Lovino's pocket, and retrieved the key.

"Uh," Lovino stammered, suddenly shy. "I don't know how that—"

"It was a nice snag," Antonio interrupted, smiling, and he held the key up tauntingly. "But I'm afraid Gilbert will be needing this back." He let go of Lovino at the same time Lovino tried to swing at him.

"Fuck off," Lovino snapped as he crossed his arms over his chest defensively.

Antonio flashed a full smile that was somewhere between electrifying and terrifying at the same time. "Bye Lovi," he said, and began pacing away rhythmically.

Lovino was scowling as long as he heard the clack of Antonio's boots, and when the door shut and he couldn't hear them any longer, he cursed again to himself.

"What was that I saw between you and darling Antonio over there?" Francis asked as he suddenly appeared near Lovino's side.

Lovino glared at him and turned his chin away. "He was looking for some key."

"Oh? Gilbert's airplane key?"

"How should I know?

Francis hummed and began stacking the extra menus. "Well, that's pretty important, so it's best he doesn't lose that."

Lovino didn't want to indulge him. He knew that Francis always said enough to make Lovino want to ask questions. But damn it, he was just too damn curious.

"What's it for?" he asked quietly.

"Ah, well," Francis started and his voice took on an important tone. "Gilbert and Antonio have two of the most important jobs around here."

Lovino pressed his lips together and willed himself not to scream. He knew Francis would say it eventually. He just had to wait. _Wait for it…_

"Gilbert is one of the pilots that flies people to Heaven," Francis said.

Lovino blinked. "You get flown to heaven? So in a regular airplane?"

"Well, I've heard it's much more glamorous than the usual—not that I have anything to compare it to. But if it's going to Heaven, it must be quite nice. Gilbert says so anyway."

"Right," Lovino muttered, and he tried to imagine it. Then he thought about Antonio and his ship. "So what does Antonio do?"

"Ah, well," Francis nodded and his eyes seemed a little sadder. "He has one of the…_worst_ jobs you could say."

"What is it?"

"He's one of the captains that sail people to Hell."

* * *

><p>~~

* * *

><p><em>*Death Certificate <em>_– like a passport to get around the Afterport. _

_*Memento _– _ literally meaning "keepsake" and in this story, it is the remainder of one's death (like a scar, you could say). _

_*The Afterport – basically Purgatory, but fantasy-like, and modeled after the structure of an airport._

_*Terminal H __– like the definition in the beginning, everyone who was killed ends up at Terminal H. It is one of the five terminals at the Afterport._

_*The hub – the center of Afterport. Where everyone works off their sentence._

* * *

><p><em>I would hope that this would go without saying, but just to reiterate it: this fic is simply my imaginative version of Purgatory. It doesn't really belong to one or any religious definition of it. It is purposefully vague and fantastical, so please don't take anything I write too seriously. Think of it like a <span>fantasy Purgatory<span>, not a necessarily religious one._

_I've had this idea for a while, and I'd like to make a comic book for it eventually (since I'm an artist before I am a writer), but I thought I could use this as a test run. It's different than anything I've written so far, so I'm pretty excited for it!_

_As I've said before, this fic will have several dark themes, but it is not a necessarily tragic fic. I mean, everyone's already dead, so what else can I do? *maniacal laughter*_

_I'll update as soon as I can! __Thank you for reading :) Please review!_


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